


What Happens After

by AboutTheColourGreen



Category: What Happens After - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5533748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AboutTheColourGreen/pseuds/AboutTheColourGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dystopian future, where people have are forced to live underground, one boy who should have died, wakes up above ground, and discovers the horrors of his past, and his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens After

The pain, the hurt, feels like thousands of knives clawing at my heart. Why, why, why? My vision blurs, you are nothing, the voice says, and I plunge deeper into confusion. I'm not who you think I am, I start to say, then I lose consciousness.

 

I awake, to the pain. My heart swells with sadness, but why I realize, I do not know. My arm hurts and I look down to a metal band around my wrist, flashing a dark orange. Something stinks and I turn to what I thought were sacks of grain, to see corpses – thousands upon thousands of human bodies – flesh rotting away, and the stench reeking from each and every body. I try and crawl back and manage to sink my arm through a dead man's ribcage. I turn and retch, over and over, trying to escape the endless pile of bodies. I hold my nose until I reach the last of them and collapse onto the ground. Only then I wonder, where am I? The land is barren and dry, a sickly rot smelling breeze blows through the air, kicking up little rocks and paper scraps. I turn back to the bodies. Each body, like me, has a metal band around their arms, only their's are glowing red. I look down and mine which has changed to a mustard yellow. A page from a books flies past me and I grab it, “Life isn't hard to manage when you've nothing to lose.” Ernest Hemingway. In a messy scrawl, like someone wrote it down as a reminder. I shove it into my pocket and stand up and take a deep breath, which turns out to be a mistake as the wind is blowing upwind from the rotting corpses. I need to move, now. I walk at first, then run, full speed, as far away as possible until I reach a house. People, I think, people who could help me. I am about to knock on the door when I see it is falling off its hinges. I cock my head sideways and look inside. A steady breeze blows through a hole in the side of the house – no one has been here for years. My heart rate increases as the panic sinks in. I walk into the house, searching, searching for someone – but there is no one. I plot down on the couch in defeat . I lean back and feel something press into my back. I turn and realize I have a backpack with something in it. I open it up and find a half eaten granola bar, a wrench, knife and a book. I open it and look at the first page: Property of Sir Hudson F. Kryder. I furrow my brow in confusion, the name does not ring a bell. But then again, what do I remember? I don't remember... I don't remember anything. And then the realization sinks in, and I begin to shake I drop the book to the ground. I hear a loud thumping noise as someone bursts into the house. I fall to the ground and look up to a man holding a shotgun; inches from my face.

“It's okay sonny, this isn't going to hurt a bit,” he tells me, then fires the gun. 

 

My eyes and I bolt upright, but a handcuff on my arm is stopping me from moving.

“Hey lookie here, he finally woke up.” A voice from the end of the bed says.

 

I turn to the voice's owner which is a scruffy looking man, in his late 60's, with glasses and a warm smile – but I'm skeptical. 

“You're going to be all right boy, I know it's hard.”

“Where am I?” I ask, taking a better look around the room, beakers and test tubes are broken and scattered around the ground, and a small TV sits in the corner, with various wires and extensions attached to it. And by the door, is the shotgun. I stiffen up and look at the man.

“You're in my house, I'm Jim, but you can call me Jimmy. You're safe so long as you're here.”

“But where is here?” I say, the panic rising once more.

“Easy now my boy, the more you know, the more you fear. Now, can you tell me your name?”

“Eric.” I say, without hesitation.

“But how can I remember my name and nothing else? It doesn't-”

“You're right, you're right. It doesn't make sense. This is why I tranqed you, but you appear to be calm enough now, didn't want you running,” he says unlocking my hand from the bed, “I wanted to get you back here safely before the Roamers got you.” he says and then covers his mouth, having said too much.

“The Roamers?” I ask him.

He sighs, “Alright I'll explain one thing to you, but too much knowledge can drive a man mad.” he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before beginning.

“All you need to know right now is there is us, and them. And were not exactly the good guys. But there isn't anything we can do about it. It's just the way it is. Things got too bad, the world was contaminated with years of misuse, and we had to escape it. So people all moved underground, into bunkers never to return, that was us. But not everyone could fit, that was them. They left the disabled, left them to die, as many did, but some lived. And now they roam, for vengeance, or a way in. And that is why they will kill you if they find you, or me, because we left them to die.”

“If they were left here, and we went in or whatever, why aren't we in there too?”

“Good question my boy, weather they wanted us here or not I do not know.”

“Do you remember? Your past?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he says cautiously,

“Most everything.”

“When did you get here?”

“Probably a year ago, woke up in a disgusting pile of-”

“Bodies” I finish with him.

“It was protocol.” Jim says, and I lean forward, brow furrowed.

“Age 65, weather you like it or not, you come to this world,” he says guesting all around him.

“They kill you. Only no one knows that. Lucky for me, I found out and managed to escape, but I left my family behind, no doubt I'm erased from their memories.” he sighs,

“Families thought the elderly were being transferred to a different unit where they would have better care, provided by the government. But there just isn't that kind of space.”

“They made cuts where they had to.” I say quietly.

Jim nods sadly.

“Same with disabled children,”

“And people are okay with this? How do you not know what is going on?”

“To move forward we must be of upmost strength.”

“That's their motto. Our people's motto. You see now? Why the Roamers don't like us?”

I nod. I open my mouth to ask a question when we are interrupted by a siren. I turn to Jim, but he looks as confused as I.

“Get up,” he says to me quietly.

“Get up!” he says louder this time, and I scramble to untangle myself form the covers and stand. He grabs my arm and we pause in silence for a moment as the siren gets louder and louder. Jim runs to a window and I try to follow him,

“Get back!” he shouts, and I shrink into a corner, eyes darting left and right.

“No, there's no way in hell,” he says from the window, and I don't need to be next to the window to a convoy of white cars, speeding towards us.

“What? Who are they? What do they want?” I ask following Jim as he grabs various viles and food, shoving everything into a backpack.

“Not now, there isn't enough time,” I see my book on a shelf and grab it. Jim takes it and shoves it into the bag too.

“You must run, run and don't come back, no matter what you hear. You promise me? There should be everything you need for a few days, but after that...” he shakes the idea off and practically throws the bag at me. He pulls my to the back door, and hesitates,

“I wish I could tell you more,”

“Come with me then!” I say,

“I can't run, I am too old,” he looks left and right and grabs two things,

“Map of as much as I know exists,” he says handing it to me,

“And a journal from my first life, on the inside, now run! And do not come back!” he pushes me out the door and I bolt, as I hear the sound of tires screeching to a halt.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so tell me if you like this or would like me to continue!


End file.
